


Tree

by MathConcepts



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Maedhros imitates a rollercoaster, Maedhros overreacts, Make-up, Makeouts, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Slight Humor, emotionally that is, everything turns out alright in the end, how the christmas tree came to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 21:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21665392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MathConcepts/pseuds/MathConcepts
Summary: "Maitimo-" Fingon began, hurrying to explain before his words could take on a meaning untrue but still insidious, but was cut off as Maedhros turned on him, a half-hidden snarl on his lips."So you have come to accuse me of sedition?" Maedhros said wrathfully."No, no," Fingon attempted to placate him, to take his hand, but Maedhros wrenched back from his grasp, more cruelly than he had first intended.A visit, an overreaction, and a tree.
Relationships: Fingon | Findekáno/Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 2
Kudos: 42





	Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Niagrem](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Niagrem).



It snowed frequently in Hilthum, enough to keep the trees laden and a perpetual chill in the air. The snow, white as linen, as feathers, as sand, hid the imperfections of the land. Hilthum was far from a beautiful place, it was cold, plain, and open. To Maedhros, it was perfect.  
  
It was not for its homely simplicity that he loved Hilthum, but for the surety it gave him. Here in the cold he need not fear the heat. Here, berift of beauty, he need not fear beguilement. Here, in the open, he need not fear imprisonment.  
  
The snow crunched under his feet, deliberately so. To walk silently was to walk with his thoughts. His guards and advisors, and court as well often fretted when he went out to walk alone and abroad of the castle, but none hindered him. If their Lord wished to wander hither and thither in the snow, than it was of his own prerogative. So he walked on, churning the snow beneath his boots. The sun had not yet risen, but it was nigh about to break into the sky, and signal the end of Maedhros's wanderings.  
  
Night, or the dim hours before the morning came were the only hours of freedom Maedhros could steal from his lordly duties, and even then he was constrained to keep his sojourn short. But such was for the better, solitude was fickle, and could turn from a comfort to a terror on a whim.   
  
The mists that hung so thickly were dispelled as the sun rose in all her glory, blazing gold and orange, and Maedhros stopped to take in its beauty. It would be long before he would cease to be amazed at the sight of it, the fruit of Laurelin.   
  
His cloak dragged in the snow as he walked on after a few moments, mottling the hem with new moisture. But it mattered little, he could stop again and let it dry. The page found him sometime later, sitting upon the stump of a fallen tree, his cloak over his knees and his face turned towards the sunlight.  
  
"My Lord," the page began, slipping from his horse and approaching Maedhros, who turned to look at him, "Your presence is needed at the castle." Maedhros stood, slinging his cloak over one shoulder. Though it warmed slowly when the sun rose, it had warmed enough to make the thick garment a discomfort. "The King rides here, the sentries say he is not more than an hour's march away." the page continued, much to Maedhros's alarm. The king.  
  
 _Fingon_.  
  
"No word of his coming was sent." Maedhros said, as if it was that which discomfited him. The page only gave him a bemused look, unwilling to comment on the King's irregularities. Maedhros smiled in ill-concealed amusement; the page was young, a child of not more than a few hundred years. Had he been older and more jaded, he might have a shared a jape at the king's expense with Maedhros.   
  
Maedhros sent the page on his way, with orders to have the castle prepared for the king's arrival. Not that much could be done within the space of an hour, but Maedhros was decidedly the master of taking on hopeless situations.   
  
  
After the page's horse had dwindled into a speck against the white of the snow, Maedhros began the rather long walk back to the castle, wondering at the cause of Fingon's sudden appearance. A messenger, finely garbed and escorted, or letters, formal and illuminated by fine script and royal seals were sent ahead of a king's visit, and should the the king be in haste, the birds would carry tidings. But then, Fingon had always had a penchant for daring acts, walking alone and unaided into the land of his greatest enemy with naught but a _harp_ was his finest, and so this visit was perhaps another of those acts that contrived to step out of social norms.   
  
  
Arriving at the castle, Maedhros oversaw the most urgent preparations, and after which he retired to his chambers to make ready. Knock the snow from his boots, toss his cloak in front of the fire, bind his hair under a copper circlet, switch his dark garments for ones lighter in color and of richer materiel, and then parse through the numerous pelts of fur he owned.  
  
Celegorm often sent Maedhros gifts in the form of fur and leathers, all gleaned on the hunts he was so fond of, and they were not wasted. They adorned Maedhros' chambers and covered his bed and furniture, or were displayed on his body.  
  
The coat of mottled yellow velvet he now wore, cinched at the waist and clasped with gold was adorned by a stole made of fox that Maedhros wore on his shoulder, Celegorm had sent two fetching pelts from his latest hunt, and Maedhros had taken a particular fancy to them. Maedhros now often resisted donning such finery, but for Fingon he had no such qualms. And it would please Fingon to see him arrayed thusly.  
  
Fingon took joy in fine things, gems and silks and jewelry from the finest metals, and did so even more now than before. Maedhros understood, perhaps even more than Fingon himself, that Fingon clung to things beautiful and fine to sooth the loss of other things much more precious.  
  
Sighing, Maedhros adjusted the drape of his furs, staring at his reflection in the gilt mirror that spanned the height of a wall. It was often kept covered, save when Maedhros had a whim to stare at his own face. For being his own, his face was one he hardly recognized at times, indeed, it was still fair, the scars that slashed over his eye and the side of his throat seemed but decorations now that his health was at its height. But there was a hollowness to his face for all its health, and a darkness haunted the corners of his eyes, the specter of memories...or of an oath. Yanking its curtain of silk back over the mirror in a practiced flourish, Maedhros left his chambers, going to the courtyard where he would receive the king.  
  


The courtyard was wide and open, hedged by stone and iron, and set between a magnificent view of the surrounding forests, and the castle's great doors. The doors, huge and barred also with iron, were emblazoned by a gilded nine-pointed star, a token set there by Curufin. When Maedhros's younger brother had come to tour his newly built castle so many years ago, he had summarily set to reworking much of the detailing that Maedhros had commissioned. Much to his folly, Maedhros had not attempted to hinder him, and had received his castle back with the sigil of his lineage seemingly imprinted on every available surface.   
  
Maedhros had secretly considered the alterations to be in poor taste when they were first made, but now, so many years and sorrows later, Maedhros was glad of it. He stood with his back to the doors, consciously aware that the silvered star would frame him from behind. Something had to be said for Curufin's aesthetic choices. And his pettiness. Maedhros was not the king, nor ever would be, but Curufin had made damn and well sure that he lived in a castle marked for one.  
  
The members of his court he had chosen to accompany him took their places by rank beside him, cutting a splendid picture in their own hastily applied finery. In the distance, there was a twinkle, the sunlight shining on moving things.   
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
Fingon and his posse, who bore banners emblazoned with the King's sigil, and attired in bright armor and capes of silver rode into the open courtyard. Fingon was at the head, flanked by his guards, and he raised a hand in greeting towards Maedhros's group. Maedhros stepped forward, raising his own hand in answer, the glint from the rings on his fingers falling into his eyes.   
  
Fingon drew his horse to a standstill and dismounted in a flounce of bright cloth and glitter of gold, and Maedhros's breath caught in his throat. Of all the tapestries and statues, illustrations and memories he owned that bore Fingon's likeness, none compared or would ever, to Fingon alive and present.  
  
Maedhros sank to one knee as Fingon approached, his head bowed in deference. "My King, welcome." he said, and Fingon dipped his head gracefully, motioning for Maedhros to rise. Maedhros did so, and Fingon's eyes caught his own, then swept down the length of his body, taking in Maedhros's velvets and furs in an appreciative look. Fingon was fine sight himself, Maedhros found, in blue and blue and more blue silk, lined with fur speckled in black. Fingon was nearly lost in the formless garment of his overcoat, looking for all the world as if he were as child again, garbed in clothes filched from a parent. The thought brought a smile to Maedhros's lips, one that Fingon answered with his own. They came together, and embraced as friends and kinsman, as was proper. Though Maedhros's hand may have lingered a moment too long upon the small of his back, and Fingon, ever daring, brushed a kiss on his cheek.  
  
But their respective peoples noticed nothing amiss, and they drew apart, Fingon raising a hand to press against his own chest. "I apologize for coming to you unheralded, my Lord Maedhros."  
  
"I will always welcome you, night or day, unheralded or not so, my King." Maedhros responded solemnly. Fingon nodded gravely, hiding a smile, and signaled for his guards and companions to dismount, which they did, and their mounts were led away by servants. Fingon extended a gracious hand to Maedhros. "Come, speak with me, my lord." he said, pitching his voice so he was clearly heard by all. His people took this a sign to move away, rightly surmising that he wanted privacy, and Maedhros waved his own people back as well. Both groups withdrew a respectful distance, leaving Maedhros and Fingon alone.  
  
Casting a glance at the receding figures of their respective courts, Maedhros held his arms out to Fingon, and his cousin came to him, stepping into his arms, warm and slender and smiling, smelling of snow and Hilthum's pine trees. Maedhros tucked his handless arm around his waist and drew him him in, clasping him chest to chest and hip to hip, and Fingon surged to meet him, standing on his toes to meet his mouth to Maedhros', fingers tangling in his hair. The kiss was brief, as any contact snatched in haste was, but Fingon was the taste of fresh bread to someone starving, the flavor of clean water to one tormented by thirst, and Maedhros took, and took well what he could in the time allotted to him.   
  
It was a dangerous game indeed, stealing a kiss from Findekano while their people stood not more than a hundred paces from them, but Maedhros could not bring himself to care. Fingon drew back, lips and cheeks and the tips of his ears red, looking suddenly as shy as a maid. Maedhros touched his face, gently so, then dragged the calloused pad of his thumb down his jaw as he let his hand fall away. "My King." Maedhros said softly, the words half a warning, and Fingon drew in a breath, the color falling from his face.  
  
"Come, my Lord." Fingon said, regaining his composure swiftly. "We should not keep the others waiting." They walked to rejoin their entourage, shoulder to shoulder and feigning conversation, together crossing the short distance into the castle itself. The sun illuminated great double doors of the castle as they were opened, and as Fingon stepped before Maedhros and over the threshold, the gold woven in his hair turned to strands of fire in the morning light, and Maedhros swallowed at the striking sight. Fire in Fingon's hair...the thought sat uneasily with him, for no reason he could yet fathom. Unnerved, he hurried on, into the darker interior of the castle, where the gold Fingon's hair remained simply gold.  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
The king and his companions were shown to the chambers prepared for them, and Maedhros withdrew to his own, only pretending to attend to other matters until he received the summons that he knew would come, a message from the king, requesting to see him. Noting that a sharp wind had started up, Maedhros pulled his now dry cloak over his shoulders, furs and all, and went to meet with Fingon. Fingon was atop one of the castle's turrets, staring out upon the snowy land below. A word and his guards retired, but it was only until they had moved out of earshot that Maedhros approached his cousin.   
  
"My King-" he began, but Fingon held up a hand to stay him.  
  
"No need to stand on ceremony now, Maitimo." Fingon said, his voice soft, almost weary. His hand dropped down, bracing against the ledge of the turret as he leaned over it. Alarmed for a reason that he could not say, Maedhros reached out and caught Fingon's sleeve, pulling him back and away from the ledge.  
  
"Careful. It is a long way down." Maedhros warned.   
  
"I do not intend to let myself fall." Fingon retorted, without any sting. The words lessened the strange fear that had bloomed in Maedhros's chest, and he managed a smile, too wide and too wavering to be seen as genuine. Fingon looked away from his false smile, eyes dropping to the stone floor beneath his feet, and Maedhros's lips arranged themselves into a frown.   
  
"Does something ail you?"  
  
"I am cold."

"You? Who braved the Helcaraxe?" Maedhros jested, but his fingers were already going to the clasp of his cloak. Fingon laughed, a sudden and welcome sound, and caught Maedhros's wrist, drawing his hand forward and pressing a kiss to his scarred knuckles.  
  
"Nay, it is not your cloak that I need." Fingon said, sliding his hand from Maedhros's wrist to his elbow in a smooth motion and tugging him closer. "It is you." Maedhros had him in his arms the moment the words were spoken, pressing his lips to Fingon's. Years before, Maedhros would have gently refused Fingon's invitation, thinking of the dangers presented by it, but now, risks he would take on, and risks he would overcome. He would not deny himself, or Fingon, in the name of propriety any longer.  
  
Fingon gave way, allowing Maedhros to push him back against the stone wall, and kiss and kiss and _kiss_ him, til they were forced to part for want of air. Breathless, Fingon twined his arms around his cousin's neck, drawing in long breaths. "I've come...on a matter of some urgency," he said when he had recovered enough to speak.  
  
Maedhros had located a weak point in Fingon's collar, and was giving his attention that, only pausing to mumble, "Let me have my fill, and then you may tell me what is of so much importance."  
  
"Ever the diplomat," Fingon laughed, but Maedhros gave no answer, busying his lips against Fingon's skin, but curiosity eventually took hold.   
  
"What is this matter, that is so urgent that you rode here unannounced?"  
  
Fingon stilled, laying a hand on Maedhros's shoulder to halt his ministrations. "There are some in my court once loyal to your father, and now to your brothers...and you." he said slowly, his eyes meeting and holding Maedhros's, watching for his reaction. "They speak against me at times, I fear they are...uncontent with my leadership, yet for their opinions I cannot fault them, but I still require their loyalty."  
  
The meaning of his words escaped Maedhros at first, and only after repeating them, passing them through his mind like a sailor might pass a rope through his hands to inspect it, did their meaning sink in with a sting of cold clarity, after which anger swiftly followed. Fingon's words, mild and carefully chosen as they might be, were a paltry cover for what Fingon truly meant. And did Fingon think him a child, or a madman to be appeased with veiled words that Fingon could not speak what he _truly meant?_  
  
"You believe they will rise in revolt against you?" Maedhros whispered harshly, brushing Fingon's hand from his shoulder. There, let be said. It was rumor of rebellion that had sent Fingon to his halls unannounced and unlooked for.  
  
Many besides his brothers had muttered when Maedhros had surrendered the crown, and many of them muttered still, Maedhros knew. It had been hard and long work to appease them, to be certain of their obedience, but it was a victory won and secured. For Fingon to suggest otherwise bespoke of a confidence that was false, a trust that was not true.   
  
_He thinks you mean to betray him_ , a voice inside Maedhros's head whispered, a voice low and dark and cruel, a voice that sounded...like...like...  
  
Maedhros stepped back, away from Fingon. Predictably, Fingon followed, and Maedhros led him on a short chase down the turret's winding staircase, into the small room below it. "Maitimo-" Fingon began, hurrying to explain before his words could take on a meaning untrue but still insidious, but was cut off as Maedhros turned on him, a half-hidden snarl on his lips.  
  
"So you have come to accuse me of sedition?" Maedhros said wrathfully.   
  
"No, _no_ ," Fingon attempted to placate him, to take his hand, but Maedhros wrenched it from his grasp, more cruelly than he had first intended, and sunk down onto the low bench that was the room's only furnishing.  
  
"Then what?" Maedhros demanded.   
  
"I have come to ask that you offer a solution, I am their king, but in loyalty they are still your people, and I would wish that the one that they hold respect for assuage their grievances."  
  
 _Your people._ Fingon was king of them all, but yet those who held the line of Feanor in special regard were denizens of Maedhros. _Well then_. There was one solution that Maedhros could attest to that would put a rest to Fingon's fears. Permanently.  
  
  
"Take them, and execute them if you wish." Maedhros said, not quite hiding the bitterness that infused his voice. Was it so very bad that those who still held him and his family in some regard still lingered? He did much, and did often to breach the gulf his father had torn between him and his kin, must the pithy respect and honor his line still managed to wield be stripped away as well?  
  
Fingon stared at him, shock flickering on his face, but Maedhros merely gave him a hard stare. Perhaps he had not meant to offend, but yet he had, and Maedhros was slow to forgive such a deep slight. "My King." Maedhros said, and stood, bowing low before his cousin before striding from the room.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Alone in his chambers, Maedhros contemplated the crackling fire that had been set ablaze on the hearth, watching the flames scamper and dance over the piled logs. Three or four silent hours of contemplating the flames had restored his composure, but not his wounded pride. Fingon's worries were true enough, yet they had grated too harshly for Maedhros to let them slip by in silence.  
  
Sighing, Maedhros idly ran a hand through his hair, Fingon would never seek to punish him for the words they had exchanged, but it would be Maedhros who would have to offer amends.   
  
But although Maedhros's anger had cooled, but he would not suffer to go to Fingon, _king_ though Fingon was, Maedhros was his equal in all but title. Let Fingon come to him, if he wished to make peace.  
  
  
A short time later, he found himself before the doors of Fingon's chambers, requesting an audience with him. So much for his conviction to wait for Fingon. Fingon welcomed him cheerfully, as if nothing was amiss between them, much to Maedhros's confusion. Perhaps Fingon only meant to put on a show for his guards and attendants, but when they had gone and the door was locked after them, Fingon still retained his cheery mein.  
  
"My King." Maedhros began, a touch more formally than was his wont, unsettled as he was by Fingon's cheer, "I have come to apolo-" but Fingon waved it off, shaking his head and setting his gold ribbons glittering.  
  
"No need, Maitimo."   
  
"I did not mean-" Maedhros attempted again, but again Fingon waved him off.  
  
"Let us not fight." Fingon said, turning his damnable, charming smile on Maedhros. "Forget my earlier words and visit with me." Now quite confused, Maedhros allowed his cousin to shepherd him into the bedroom beyond.  
  
It was only when Maedhros took a glass of wine that Fingon decanted and passed to him, and watched Fingon's fingers tremble ever so slightly around the glass stem, did he realize what Fingon was doing.  
  
Fingon was trying to soothe him, plying him with charm and sweet words to allay any more ill will on Maedhros's part. _Little fool,_ Maedhros wanted to say, but he only sighed, vexed. He was no longer angry, and already was beginning to regret his former outburst; by rights, Fingon should have been demanding an apology for Maedhros's disrespect, not attempting to coddle him.  
  
Maedhros set down his glass without drinking from it, and held out a hand. "Finno, enough." Fingon looked at him in alarm, and Maedhros continued, quickly, before Fingon could speak. "...My words earlier, were hasty and undeserved. Forgive my anger, I overreacted." Fingon sighed softly, and took a seat on his bed, staring idly at the far wall.  
  
"Perhaps I should have kept my concerns to myself, I only wished to keep you appraised of the moods of the court, not upset you so." he said. Maedhros sat beside him, taking Fingon's hand in his own.  
  
"I am not upset anymore. Truly, I am sorry for the way I acted." Fingon covered his hand with his own, his expression guarded.   
  
"I would never do anyone harm for having loyalty, Maitimo." he said, and Maedhros swallowed, looking away. He had not meant to suggest that Fingon truly execute the ones he suspected of dissent, it had been a suggestion made in anger.  
  
"I never believed that you would." Maedhros said simply, and Fingon smiled then, relived.  
  
"Perhaps we should go for a walk," he said, swiftly changing the subject. "I am told that you like to wander afar, daydreaming the forest." Maedhros snorted in a most unlordly manner.  
  
"Idle gossip, nothing more." he growled. "I am not in the habit of wandering and daydreaming anywhere, like a maid with a newlyfound love." Now it was Fingon's turn to scoff, no doubt remembering the leisure nights in Tirion when the two would do nothing more than wander and daydream in their newlyfound love.   
  
"Still, I am in the mood for a walk." Fingon went on, rising from the bed. But Maedhros hooked an arm around his waist from behind, pulling him down and sprawling him on his back over the fur coverlet that had been yet another gift from his brother.  
  
"My king." Maedhros said, darkly and serious as he shifted to loom over him, his one remaining hand planted against the mattress to support himself, "You are going absolutely _nowhere_."   
  
Fingon affected mock indignation despite the smile that curved his lips, propping himself up upon his elbows as he regarded Maedhros with a twinkle in his eye. "You dare hold the King against his will? I will warn you cousin, that is treason."  
  
Maedhros' mouth twitched. "Then so be it."   
  
"Guards!" Fingon called in a teasing voice, but Maedhros' hand clamped over Fingon's mouth, with pressure cleverly applied to flatten him back against the furs and nothing more. Fingon's laughter was muffled by his hand, but his eyes were bright and mirthful, and so Maedhros heard his laughter clearly all the same. He kept his hand on his cousin's mouth, and dipped his face to pillow it against his hair, drinking in the scent of pine that still lingered and the tang of gold. They were not delicate scents, and Maedhros was overwhelmed for a moment by their headiness.  
  
Fingon's hand came up to stroke over Maedhros's hair and down his back, his touch as light as a feather, hardly there, and almost contritely Maedhros pulled his hand away from Fingon's mouth, feeling strangely ashamed for the previous roughness of his play. "Finno-" he began, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Fingon laid a finger over his lips.  
  
"My love." Fingon said softly, and then drew his finger away, raising his head to touch his mouth to Maedhros's. Maedhros shuddered, then went limp against him, and Fingon's arms snaked around his neck, locking him in place. "Everyday I think of you, Maitimo, everyday." Fingon whispered against against his lips. "Do not think so little of me, that I would make you renounce the respect you hold to forward my power. I only wish for peace."  
  
"I'm a fool." Maedhros whispered back. "I know, _I know_ you came in the name of peace, to seek my help, but I saw insult where none was intended. Forgive me, my king."  
  
"There is no need to forgive you." Fingon assured him sweetly, and they laid the matter to rest as they kissed, and then kissed some more, losing themselves in their need and the softness of Celegorm's fur.  
  
  
When they saw fit to disentangle themselves from each other, Maedhros proposed a ride through the woods, a concession to Fingon's earlier want for a walk. Which was how he found himself riding through glades of pines, listening to Fingon chide him for the state of the trees.  
  
"It's cold here, Finno. The trees do not grow as luxurious as they might do in a place with more heat." Maedhros explained for for more than the first time. But Fingon wasn't listening. He halted by a straggly tree, casting a look up into its sparse branches. "It's so...barren." Fingon said, laying a hand on the rough bark of its trunk.  
  
"I could have it decorated if you like." Maedhros said, only half paying attention to Fingon's complaints, distracted as he was by studying curve of his jaw. Fingon looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, clearly amused.  
  
"Decorate one tree, out of the thousands here?"  
  
"Mmm. With bells and gold ribbons and silver chains." Maedhros said, patting the nape of his horse's neck and imagining the incredulous looks he would receive from his servants if he did indeed order such a thing to be done. Fingon laughed, a sound alike to tinkling bells.  
  
"You _are_ silly, Maitimo." he said. Maedhros shrugged, a grin curving his lips.  
  
"As you say, my love." he murmured.  
  
  
  
  
  
The next morning, he asked Fingon to ride with him again, creating a quiet scandal among Fingon's retinue, and took his cousin back to the tree. It was now adorned with all the things Maedhros had mentioned, bells and ribbons and delicately crafted silver chains.

  
"It looks even sillier than you act." Fingon had said when he saw it, but Maedhros knew he was delighted all the same. They sat for a time under the tree on a carpet of pine needles, talking as they once did so long ago, before a particularly fussy attendant of Fingon's came to see just what Maedhros was doing with his king.  
  
For many a year after the tree was also adorned on the same day at Maedhros's behest, an odd custom to those besides Maedhros and Fingon. 


End file.
